Parasitic Plant
by MirandaMinerva
Summary: Mirandy. Same timeline as my previous story, Mistletoe, but told from Miranda's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

Life has been a bit, well, distracting for many months (lesbian divorce, sold home, quit job, off to Scotland for grad school). All is settling down now, so I am at last able to make final edits to this story I've been puttering about during the previously mentioned events. Well, actually only some writing and much more in the way of editing/fine-tuning. Of course, just saw 'The September Issue' which had me altering and enhancing Cora (based loosely on Grace Coddington) now that I've gotten a better idea of her personality…This story is best read after 'Mistletoe' as it follows the same events, but from Miranda's POV. Please read and let me know what you think. I appreciate feedback about what can be improved, what is/was completely unbelievable, what's over-edited, etc.

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**Post-Andrea: Week One **

Miranda felt the world closing in around her. Her hearing became muted, and her vision blurry. She paused on the top step to that afternoon's event midway through Paris' Fashion Week.

_'Where was Andrea?'_ Her chest tightened, and she felt hot, the air pressing down. A flash went off in her face.

The blinding light snapped on a switch in her head. She closed her mouth, willed herself not to gulp for air. She pursed her lips as both a way to regain control over her own body and as a way to slow her respirations, taking in nostrils full of air, nares flaring.

With a turn on her heel, Miranda focused on making it inside the building, her eyes searching for Nigel in the throng around her.

"Miranda, so glad you could make it," one of the presenters air-kissed the fashion goddess as he led her to a seat in the front row. He looked vacantly around her, then seemed to realize that there was no assistant and schooled his expression.

"What might we get for you?" His voice was soft, buttery. Miranda despised the fact that she was surrounded by hordes of spineless people incapable of thinking for themselves. She held back a dry heave, and again concentrated on her breathing.

"Pellegrino," she bit out.

"Most assuredly." His small, slender form slid through the mass of attendees, disappearing from sight. Miranda opened her clutch and stared at her Blackberry again.

_'Should I try to call her again?'_ The question was rhetorical, as she had already pressed the quick-dial button for Andrea.

When the phone rang three times without answer, Miranda hung up and stared blankly at the phone while determining her next move.

"Miranda. I thought I saw Andy crossing Trocadero Plaza…" Nigel trailed off when Miranda turned her head towards him and dropped her sunglasses just enough to give the harshest glare she could muster. It was nowhere near the usual 'Death Star' level, and she knew it—so did he.

Silently, he made a motion to sit next to her, unsure if it was safe to sit in his usual position by her side, considering the current situation.

When the young man returned with a glass of bubbling Pellegrino, Miranda took one sip, then handed the goblet to Nigel. He calmly held it in one hand during the show, scribbling notes with the other on the pad resting on his crossed legs. Miranda was glad that he was there, as she had difficulty focusing her attention. The show that afternoon centered on several designers who clearly should have been scheduled for the Prêt-A-Porte' (Ready-to-Wear) show later in the year. She adjusted her sunglasses a couple of times, attempting not to notice Nigel looking askance at her each time. She was painfully aware that he was concerned she would burst into either tears or flames. She did neither.

When the show was complete, she sidestepped by designers, models, and general leaches, finding a semi-secluded spot near a ghastly fern-like potted tree. She rang Emily back in New York and verified her schedule for the rest of the day. It was evident that the young woman was curious as to why she was being summoned for this information. As Miranda never explained herself, however, Emily pushed her inner questions down.

"I will be calling you again in a few hours with further instructions. That's all." Smashing the 'end call' key on her phone, Miranda mentally ran through her dilemma. She desperately wanted to either hunt down Andrea or to hide away in her suite the rest of the evening.

"Miranda. We have to go mingle."

"Do not manage me, Nigel. I know what I need to do. This week will go down in my life as a true test. The designers are uninspired, the paparazzi bland in their queries and interest, and…well, with Andrea gone, that leaves Emily. And that's just Runway. I cannot imagine this week getting any worse."

Nigel nodded once. They had worked together for over 9 years, Nigel able to read her better than anyone. Well, up until Andrea. Andrea was almost psychic. Her throat closed at that thought, and she forced herself to swallow down the lump. She was all too aware that after Irv's failed attempt at ousting her, she could not escape any of her already scheduled appearances during the remaining two days.

Miranda focused her attention as best possible and moved among the post-show crowds, smiling and nodding when appropriate. The small talk and making-nice was going to be the death of her.

That evening, after she made her usual 15-minute appearance at three different parties, she made another call to Emily.

"Emily, once Andrea has returned to New York, cancel her company card. Do not do so until she is back in New York. No sooner, no later."

"What? When is she-"

Miranda cut her off, "Also, let HR know to start filtering applications for two new assistants. Your term is coming up in several months. London Runway has a position opening in late September, directly after London's Spring Fashion Week. I expect you to accept the offer when it is made. This should give you more than ample time to ensure replacement assistants are well prepared. Verify that I am scheduled to meet with Leslie when I return, and remind Jennifer to have the twins at home when I get there this weekend." She paused, uncharacteristically, working through her mental 'to-do' list to ensure that she hadn't missed anything of import. This was difficult as she fought down a desire to obsess over Andrea deserting her.

"Why-"

"Emily. That's all." She sighed before hanging up. Emily slowly hung up the phone on her end as well, dumbfounded. Serena took that moment to pop over and cleared her throat, expectantly.

"What was that?"

"Bollocks!" Emily slammed her fists down on her desktop and then kicked the desk from underneath with her cast for emphasis, wincing.

"That COW. I know Miranda should never have hired her." Emily scowled up at Serena, then brightened. "On the other hand, I'm returning to London this autumn."

Miranda could not believe how slowly the duration of Fashion Week went by. Those two days were longer than she could cope with. She was glad that the other autumn/winter fashion shows in New York, London, and Milan were already behind her. It was taking every last fiber of her being to get through the false cheerfulness required of her at these insipid events, and she was going to need to spend more time at home for the next few months -- her daughters would be an increasing priority now that the press would be ranting over this latest divorce.

She sat in Charles De Gaulle airport early Saturday morning, thumbing through a pile of notes that she and Nigel had compiled during the week, trying not to rip someone's head off over the flight delay. Finally, a voice announced overhead that the plane would begin boarding in a few minutes. Pulling her Blackberry out to check for any last minute messages before flipping it into flight safety mode, her eyes widened at a short message from Emily.

It seemed that the _New York_ _Mirror_ had called, wanting to verify Andrea's employment and terms of departure. The girl hadn't even been gone a week and had already applied to work elsewhere.

"Bloody hell." She hissed, the British accent of her youth coming through in her anger. She threw the phone across the floor, temporarily satisfied by the sight and sound of it breaking into a multitude of uneven bits of plastic and metal. In fact, she allowed herself the smallest of smiles at the small joy this gave her. No one from her staff moved or said a word. After a short pause, Nigel went over to the nearby ticket counter and caught the attention of one of the irritable boarding agents. Moments later, a housekeeper scurried over and swept up the remains.

The flight itself was thankfully uneventful. Miranda tapped away on her laptop, working on an outline of what she wanted to talk about with her daughters and also with Leslie regarding the divorce. As neither of those tasks took long, she contemplated what she would do about the _Mirror_'s request. After some contemplation, she finally settled on a short missive regarding Andrea. It was difficult to fight her irritation over the whole situation:

"During my tenure as Editor-In-Chief, I have seen a variety of assistants come and go, some holding more promise than others. Of all the assistants I have hired, Andrea Sachs was, by far, my biggest disappointment. She possessed a work ethic and the highest caliber of performance in her duties – then departed Runway to pursue her literary desires – thus throwing away a promising career in fashion. That said, if you don't hire her, you are, honestly, an idiot."

After landing at La Guardia, Miranda had Ted stop temporarily at the office. Dropping a satchel full of Fashion items in a niche of her office, she then signed onto her office laptop briefly. A few moments later, she had print off the note for the Mirror along with her schedule for Monday. It took only a moment to get the note faxed off and the piece of paper it was print on run through the shredder. From there, she went home to see her daughters and catch up on some much needed sleep.

The girls took the news about Stephen rather well, all things considered. She explained to her daughters that she would be home in time for dinner four days a week and told Jennifer, the girls' current nanny, about the proposed change in work schedule. She was tempted to break said nanny's neck when the young woman practically jumped for joy at the idea of getting off by 7pm most weeknights.

The remainder of the weekend was spent coordinating for the master bedroom and family room to be redecorated post-Stephen, meeting with her tax attorney, and taking the girls to the Children's Museum in Manhattan. It was not lost on Miranda that Andrea had coordinated for the Children's Museum trip when Miranda had mentioned a couple of weeks ago (somewhat suggestively) that she'd heard it was due to reopen (post-renovations) soon.

By getting the fax off about Andrea, and redoing the house post-Stephen, she hoped to have washed her hands clean of both.

Miranda should have known that one of the two individuals had begun infecting her thoughts to a degree that, like a parasite, would continue to distract and confuse her in myriad ways.

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Please let me know what you think (submit review). How did the chapter flow? Were the peeps in character? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you in advance.


	2. Chapter 2

**(2) Post-Andrea: Week Two**

Upon her return to the office Monday morning, everyone kicked into high gear reviewing the material from the various fashion presentations of the past month. Miranda had spent time early in her career as the junior head of _London Runway_ and senior editor, for a brief time, at _French Runway_. These experiences gave her a lasting impression that French designers were, truly, better than others. Therefore, more pages in the coveted September issue would be devoted to the presentations made at Paris' Fashion Week. This first week back in New York flew right by.

Throughout, Emily drove Miranda to the limits with her flighty behavior. And it didn't help matters that the young woman was thumping an atrocious-looking leg cast around.

"Honestly, Emily, a herd of thundering elephants would be a calmer, and quieter I might add, presence." Miranda sighed on Thursday afternoon as she set down a design layout for June.

"Sorry, Miranda," the redhead replied from the outer office.

"I don't want apologies. I want compliance and silence." Miranda's tone was soft, but laced with venom. She didn't even bother to look at the young woman as she turned her attention to her laptop screen. A moment later, she gathered her wrap, scarf and purse and left the building to watch the last portion of a swim meet at the girls' school. Really, she didn't care for the other parents, but was impressed that her daughters had shown such a strong interest in the sport.

As she paced the lobby of the Elias-Clarke building (the car was NOT out front), Miranda whipped out her phone and bit into Emily. As the car pulled up seconds later, she moved through the door of the building and across the dirty, busy sidewalk.

It was then, as Ted opened the door for her, that she noticed a lone figure, standing perfectly still amongst a sea of New Yorkers in perpetual motion. It was a young, somewhat tastefully dressed brunette, staring at her.

Andrea.

Miranda's breath caught and she froze, one foot raised to step into the car.

Then, the girl smiled and waved. Miranda noted it was one of those genuine, warm, Andrea smiles. Did she seriously think Miranda was going to respond to this sickening sweet, Disney-eque charm? Was the young woman always so happy?

Miranda slid into the car and removed her sunglasses with the intent of wiping a spot from one of the lenses. She was alone in the back seat, and without meaning to, allowed herself to smile at the thought of Andrea's indefatigable optimism. Then, she realized the car wasn't moving.

_'Does he need a hand engraved invitation to join the other cars on the street?,'_ she thought briefly as she snapped at Ted.

At the swimming pool, Miranda found a semi-shaded spot in the stands. She watched with pride as Cassidy placed 1st for the breaststroke event. Her daughter had an exceptionally strong breaststroke kick that brought her in to the wall well ahead of her competitors.

Miranda placed a hand up to shade her already sunglasses-encased eyes as Cassidy removed her swim goggles and twirled them by the band over her head in jubilee. A small smile of pride graced the editor's face.

As Caroline jumped into the water to prepare for the backstroke event, Miranda took a deep breath and said a silent prayer. Caroline took these competitions seriously, and it didn't help that Cassidy seemed to do so well so effortlessly.

Caroline came in a close 3rd place, and Miranda gave the young girl a small smile and shrug.

The sun continued to burn down on Miranda. Thankfully, the announcer called for swimmers to line up at their lanes for the final event, the medley relay – four swimmers per lane, each swimmer doing a particular stroke for two laps. It would start with the backstroke, then someone on breaststroke, followed by a girl swimming butterfly, and ending with freestyle.

She watched as Cassidy was teamed up with three other girls in lane 3, a central lane.

Meanwhile Caroline, Claire (Caroline's best friend this month), Amelia (one of the girls' newest friends) and a 4th girl Miranda didn't recognize prepared in lane 1 – a wall lane.

Miranda pursed her lips at this. The assignment to a wall lane was a sure sign that they were not expected to place. She found herself moving to the edge of the hard metal bleacher bench as six girls, one in each lane, got in the water and positioned along the wall. Miranda could tell that Caroline was working on calming her breathing. The girls grabbed the bar hovering just over the pool edge, raised themselves up. The shot went off, and Miranda jumped even as she expected the sharp pop. Simultaneously, six young girls fell back into the water in near perfect arches. Caroline gave a couple of strong kicks, gliding under the water a couple of meters, before rising to the surface and sculling through the water with powerful arms.

Miranda watched the event progress. Caroline completed her two laps of backstroke admirably. Her team was in third place when the next group of girls dove in to swim breaststroke. Cassidy's signature kick in this event solidified her team's 1st place lead. Miranda thought about how fortunate it was that Cassidy was a gracious child – and could be counted on to NOT rub in her lane's inevitable win.

Next came the butterfly. Amelia had excellent form and moved Lane 1 from fourth place up to third. Finally came Claire, on freestyle, the final stroke. With surprising speed, Claire moved her lane up from third to 2nd place, just a few strokes behind the girl in Cassidy's lane. It was a remarkable turnaround.

As Miranda glanced over at Cassidy, she saw the referee was talking to her daughter and her teammates in lane 3. He didn't look happy. Neither did the girls' coach, who was listening in. The referee blew his whistle, and announced that Lane 3 had been disqualified. The girl swimming freestyle had apparently entered the water before the girl swimming butterfly had touched the wall.

The coach hung his head. Miranda felt a sudden urge to smack him. How could this be okay? Cassidy and her team were disqualified?!

Amelia looked up at Miranda and called out, "Did you see that?! Cassidy did fabulous!" She was grinning from ear to ear. Next to her, Cassidy's arms were flailing around. Miranda turned her attention towards her and smiled at the girl's exuberance.

"Mom, did you see?" The twin practically ran over and stopped just at the bottom of the bleachers, water flying off her pale skin.

She carefully dropped her voice so she wasn't shouting anymore, continuing with apparent glee, "Claire just beat the season record for the best freestyle time in the event. And their team won! That was, I think, one of the best times Caroline did in backstroke. I couldn't believe it! And, of course, Amelia and I both were pretty cool. But we know how good I am, right?!" She giggled.

Miranda found herself laughing, "Yes, Bobsey. You girls did well." Cassidy turned to rejoin her swim team, then paused and momentarily turned back.

"I'm glad you came, Mom." She gave a tiny wave and skipped off. Miranda took a moment to consider how Cassidy took her lane's disqualification in stride. She knew that Caroline, so much like herself, wouldn't have taken it as admirably.

As the parents moved down and out of the bleachers, Miranda remained in place for a few moments, waiting for the unwashed, poorly dressed masses to clear the area. As she stood and stretched her neck, brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and reached for her purse, she noticed two gentlemen lingering there. One was dressed smartly in a classic Armani business suit. The other was dressed more casually, but with an equal amount of style - pressed khakis, white oxford with rolled up sleeves, and a decent pair of Kenneth Cole loafers. Their attire screamed 'gay' and Miranda had to work to prevent a smirk from pulling up the corners of her mouth. Her work in fashion had definitely refined her _'gaydar.'_

"Miranda," the Armani approached, hesitantly. She gave him a small nod to continue.

"Your daughters are wonderful. As you might guess," he cleared his throat and gave a quick look to the gentleman in loafers, "our family situation has sometimes made it difficult for Amelia to make and keep friends." He stopped here, looking around the area – everywhere but at Miranda.

With a pang, she realized they were Amelia's parents and what he was saying. Miranda made a careful show of removing her sunglasses and waited for 'Armani' to make direct eye contact.

Her grey-blue eyes blazed bright, "The ignorance and stupidity of others is…disheartening and unfortunate. However," she paused briefly for effect, "Amelia is always welcome to spend time with my girls. And I have no reservations about them spending time with Amelia."

She held back her usual 'That's all' conversation ender, and instead simply turned where she stood and cautiously finished her climb sown the bleachers. It bothered her to no end that the contraptions were so unsuitable for heels.

"Here, would you like a hand?" 'Loafers' queried, his well-manicured nails capturing Miranda's appreciative eye. While she routinely preferred to avoid any appearance of helplessness, this time she made an exception and took the proffered hand as he helped steady her over the last few steps down to the swimming pool deck.

As they parted, he whispered, "Thank you."

"It is my pleasure. Gratitude is unnecessary."

After the twins cleaned up, got dressed, and eventually emerged from the locker room, Miranda ushered them to the car. Cassidy was a little less energetic now, as all the swimming had sapped her. Caroline was her usual, quiet, introspective self.

The smell of freshly cleaned leather seats mingled with the girls' lingering halo of chlorine. Miranda found it an odd combination and twitched her nose. Since she had one girl on either side of her, so she really couldn't escape it.

"Bobseys, Mummy is so very proud of you today." Miranda had been contemplating an idea while she had been waiting on the girls, and now she wasn't sure how to present her thought to them.

"Why are you proud? Cassidy's team screwed up in the medley, and I only got 3rd place in the individual backstroke."

Miranda pulled Caroline as close as she could—silently cursing seat belts. She kissed the top of her daughter's well-chlorinated strawberry blonde head.

"My lane's disqualification has nothing to do with how you, I, or anyone else swam. Yeah, Morgan dove into the water before she should have, but it has nothing to do with us." Cassidy reached across her mother's lap to gently slap at her sister.

"She's right, Caroline. You swam very well today. You both did, Bobsey." She wrapped her left arm around Cassidy and pulled her in as well.

"If you would like to have a few of the girls for a sleepover next weekend, I think we could manage."

"Really?" The girls looked up at her.

"Yes."

"How many?" Caroline countered.

"No more than 5 girls. I don't want the house turned upside down. Who would you like to have over?"

Cassidy began, "Claire, Amelia, Nancy, Morgan, Caitlyn."

Caroline sighed, "Not Morgan. She sucked today."

"Language," Miranda inserted.

"Everyone is going to be mean to Morgan all week for messing up. She's going to need us to be her friend." Cassidy responded, calmly.

Miranda marveled at how totally different the twins could be at times. Caroline was always much more conscious of not just her own perceptions, but also those of people around her. She processed the world with careful thought and an objective, rationale eye. She knew, almost instinctively, how the world worked. Cassidy, however, was ruled by her heart. She wasn't as concerned about how others saw things. Instead, she was more interested in how people felt. She had strong ideals and wasn't afraid to stand apart as a result. Despite their differing perspectives on life, the two were as thick as thieves. Miranda had learned quickly to keep a wary eye on them, as they often found ways to coordinate their strengths into meticulous maneuvers on both her sense of logic and her mother's heart.

Caroline conceded, "Well, okay, we can have Morgan. But if we have Amelia, we can't have Claire. You know how her parents are about Amelia…"

"We don't have to tell Claire's parents that Amelia is coming. Besides, it's OUR sleepover, at OUR house. Honestly, grown-ups can be so stupid." Cassidy sighed and rolled her eyes.

Miranda decided to insert herself into the conversation, "Bobseys, I'm very proud of you for being considerate of friends like Amelia."

Cassidy looked up, questioningly, "Huh?"

Caroline clarified their position, "Mum, they're just our friends. It's no big deal. Grownups get so caught up in stupid stuff."

Miranda snorted at that. The world of 'grown-ups' was, indeed, much more complicated than it often needed to be.

"You're not bad, though, as grown-ups go," Cassidy patted her mother's leg.

"Really, and why do you say that?" Miranda arched an eyebrow in curiosity. She often felt that she failed miserably as a mother.

"Well, your magazine has all kinds of different people, you know, like Nigel? And you're friends with him, even if he is different."

"Nigel is an employee."

"Yeah, but you are nice to him, even so," Cassidy responded, eyebrow raised in defiant confidence.

"Nigel does excellent work. That's what's important. If I am pleasant to him, it is because he works hard and does well."

"And Andy," Cassidy stated.

Miranda tilted her head in confusion.

"Yeah, I forgot. Andy." Caroline nodded in agreement.

She looked from one girl to the other.

Caroline sighed, "Andy. You know. 'An-dray-ah'" She did a remarkable imitation of her mother's voice.

"Andrea WAS an employee, but what does that have to do with Nigel?" Miranda was confused.

Cassidy sighed with obvious exasperation, and Miranda found herself amused by this. A corner of her mouth quirked up, threatening a full-on smirk.

"Mother, she's like Nigel. She was smart and did a good job. But, also she liked you." Caroline stated.

Cassidy jumped in, "Andrea liked liked you."

"Yep."

Miranda snorted. Loudly.

"Well, she did," Caroline got defensive. "Whenever she dropped stuff off, she was always fussy about how she looked. Sometimes, we would tell her how you liked it best when she was the one who brought the book. I liked telling her that, because then she would smile real big and get all nervous—it was really funny."

All three of the Priestly women pondered over this information. The car was silent for several long moments.

"Caroline's right. She was always all dreamy if she got to give you the homework book in person, you know -- instead of leaving it on the table." Cassidy gave her mother a challenging look.

Miranda was dumbstruck by all of this. She carefully considered what she heard and decided the girls were simply misunderstanding what they had seen.

At this moment, the car approached the townhouse, gliding to a stop just outside the front door. And like that, the conversation turned.

"Can we have ice cream tonight, please?" Both girls looked pleadingly up at their mother.

The next morning, Miranda awoke before her 5:30 am alarm clock, with the vague feeling that she had been having a rather pleasant dream. Unfortunately, the only thing she could recall of it was that Andrea was in it, bringing her the 'Book.'

As she went about her morning yoga routine, she contemplated whether her former assistant really was so cheery all the time, as she had been outside the Elias-Clarke building yesterday. Perhaps, once Andrea settled in at the smallest of the Peterson family newspapers, she would realize that her departure in Paris had been a mistake. Her mind jumped from the scene in front of work to the conversation with her daughters. She wondered if Andrea's cock-eyed optimism and attempt to look professional when presenting the Book to her might have been mistaken for 'dreaminess' by the twins.

With a sigh, Miranda put aside thoughts of anything but her breathing as her yoga trainer 'tsked' her into compliance. She was immensely glad that it was Friday. This first week back following Paris could not be over soon enough.

That afternoon, Miranda was staring out the window of her office, feet propped up on the high window ledge, a sheath of notes in her lap. A minor argument floated in to her from the outer office.

'Emily, I'm in no mood...oh," Miranda had swiveled in her chair and her gaze was directed right into…Nigel's belt buckle. He carefully laid the spiral-bound Book on her desktop.

"Miranda," he paused only briefly before continuing, "here is the Book. Take it with you. Go home. It has been a long week." He wasn't being unkind, but understood that if he were too soft in his approach, she would surely respond defensively. Miranda preferred direct honesty in both her own communications and that of her employees. Nigel returned her gaze with unwavering conviction. He gave the Book a resounding thump of his hand, for emphasis.

"Nigel," she considered her words carefully, "we need to do lunch soon. There are …opportunities for your career advancement I would like to discuss."

He dipped his head, "As you wish." She watched him as he left her office. She was delinquent in having the needed conversation with Nigel as it was. They had been back in Paris for a good week now and she had not spoken with him about the James Holt-Jacqueline Follet incident. Her game was off and she really needed to get in gear. Mentally, she blamed Andrea's unexpected departure for throwing her whole world into chaos.

With a frown, she set a deadline in iCal for Sunday evening at 5pm. It simply stated, 'Mourning ends now. Move on.' She kept the appointment generic so that if Emily saw it (of course she would, the over-attentive nitwit), she might believe that Miranda was grieving the loss of Stephen. In actuality, it was set for her to stop thinking about the assistant that got away.

Miranda had read somewhere that if you set yourself a grieving deadline, then you could go ahead and allow yourself to mourn, etc, but only until that predetermined deadline—and then you moved on. It had to work. If it didn't, her job would suffer more than it had already. This kind of distraction could not continue.

Over the weekend, Miranda spent some time reviewing not just the Book for June's issue, but snuck into the office for a few quiet hours on Sunday, while the girls were at Claire's. Since she was alone in the office, Miranda pulled out a CD that Bill Werde had sent over from Billboard earlier in the week. This week's CD was titled 'Motherlode,' by Sarah Hickman. Turning up the volume, she let the 20-track playlist keep her from getting too involved in her work. There were a handful of songs that were particularly engaging. She quickly made some adjustments to the layouts set up for July's issue on Nigel's mock-up board. Then, she left a stack of sketches on Cora's desk for some ideas of shoots for the almighty September issue.

She knew that Cora grew her red hair out during the Spring so she would have something to pull on during her and Miranda's notorious disagreements over themes for September. Cora was a stubborn Irishwoman and, like Nigel, one of the few people that didn't quiver in Miranda's presence. Cora's strong sense of what worked for the magazine was both irritating and admirable.

In actual fact, Miranda mused, perhaps that is what she had found endearing about Andrea after a time – the young woman held strong convictions and wasn't afraid to voice her opinion on a variety of topics—from cerulean blue belts to replacing Emily at Paris Fashion Week.

Before she went home, Miranda sent off an email to Bill indicating her thoughts on some of the song tracks, along with a request for an edgier CD the following week.

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I realize that the order of swim events was completely unreal, but altered it to work for me. (bwah-hah-hah) Please let me know what you think (submit review). How did the chapter flow? Were the peeps in character? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you in advance.


	3. Chapter 3

**(3) Post-Andrea: Weeks 3-4**

Monday morning, as the town car slowly worked through the traffic towards the girls' school, Miranda called the number she'd obtained by way of an acquaintance at the mayor's office the previous week. After several rings, she was about to hang up.

"Hello?" Miranda could detect the uncertainty in the voice, but smiled despite herself at Andrea's intonation. The chipper voice was followed by a muffled bit of cursing and extraneous sounds of items being shuffled around. Miranda had no patience for this. She sighed and hung up.

Really, what would she have said to the young woman, anyway? Why was she even bothering to call Andrea? And she had even set herself a deadline for thoughts about the young woman. That time was past—it was now Monday, after all. She really needed to let go.

She looked down at the twins--both sitting to her left, and smiled. They were wonderful daughters and Miranda knew she needed to do a better job of being there for them – and that meant she needed to focus her attentions better. Shortly, they pulled up in front of school, and Miranda reminded her daughters that they needed to discuss the upcoming slumber party that evening when she got home.

Her mind stayed on what she deemed important – work and the girls for the duration of the week.

On Saturday morning, before the commencement of the slumber party mayhem, she and the girls went to synagogue. She had been away for almost a full year, really, and the divorce gave her good reason to return. Well, wouldn't you know it -- during the services her mind wandered to Andrea. The meandering thoughts were prompted by a chestnut-haired young woman seated a few rows ahead of Miranda. When services ended, the young lady turned and was very clearly NOT Andrea, snapping Miranda back to reality. While she had stopped thinking about the young woman purposefully, she could simply NOT help it if prompts in the world about her forced her to momentarily ponder over her former assistant. She would feel no guilt over this.

So, she was not too surprised or upset with herself when she found her fingers dialing the journalist again the following Monday morning. She was quite proud of how she handled the call, and hung up in quite a good mood. She had been able to throw Andrea some witty barbs about her lack of verbal skills and generally been her usual, snarky self.

Monday mornings were always better if she could unleash sarcasm on someone. And so, feeling happy with herself, Monday went well. In fact, the whole week went relatively smoothly, including a meeting with Stephen and his lawyers. Obviously, getting revenge, so to speak, with Andrea, was much better for her sanity than simply 'letting go.'

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Please let me know what you think. How did this (short) chapter flow? Were the peeps in character? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you…


	4. Chapter 4

**(4) A summer of obsessive calls **

Then came another Monday.

Why was she calling Andrea again? Was she expecting the young woman to change her answer? What if Andrea answered her in the affirmative – that she indeed did have regrets? Did Miranda actually care enough to want to follow up and ask exactly what those regrets might be? Her own actions stumped her…and yet she made the call anyway.

This behavior continued weekly for a few months. Sometimes, after answering the question, Andrea would mention other things – she would inquire as to how the twins were doing, ask about her vacation, the dog, Nigel, and such. Miranda never replied with more than simple, one-word answers, such as "fine." Sometimes, Andrea would share some casual observation about an article or layout she had seen in Runway.

In actual fact, Miranda found herself enjoying the routine of the calls, and, admittedly, hearing that indefatigably happy voice on a Monday morning. She would NEVER admit to enjoying such saccharine sweetness to anyone, as it might be taken as a sign she was going soft. However, it was what it was.

The June, July, and August issues of Runway went out without a hitch. Despite some last minute changes to the September issue, following Isaac Mizrahi's business failure, Runway pulled in record advertising profits. It was only slightly bulkier than the previous year's issue, but brought in almost double the capital, putting a smile on Irv's face and getting him off her back for, hopefully, several weeks (if not longer).

As school started in September, Miranda adjusted her travels for the scheduled Fashion Week presentations. She was able to capture the last couple days of the London event, all of the Paris events, and attended two days in Milan. A few of the English and Italian designers raised a bit of a fuss over this change, but that was to be expected. Life moved on.

The first Saturday in October, she was sitting in synagogue, and the young Andrea look-alike was there again. Which prompted Miranda to ponder over what was she really getting out of her phone calls with Andrea? What was, truly, the point?

So, after some deliberation, she stopped calling.

* * *

Please let me know what you think (submit review). How did this (short) chapter flow? Were the peeps in character? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you…


	5. Chapter 5

**(5) Autumn: Giving Up & Letting Go – or Not**

That first no-call Monday was completely horrid. Nothing was going as it should and Miranda found her staff to be especially useless. Emily could get absolutely _nothing_ right during her final week in the office. The new 1st assistant was hacking and sneezing too much to be sanitary (making Miranda wonder if the girl would be able to keep up with her responsibilities), and the person that HR had sent up as a possible new 2nd assistant appeared to be an exceptionally immature, heterosexual male.

Not that Miranda had a problem with men working under her. She was, however, irritated, as this young _'breeder'_ (Nigel's term for the boy) had no interest in fashion, and, as the nephew of Irv's wife, would be difficult to eliminate. With some effort, she gave him every opportunity to prove himself. His inability to think about Runway's needs before his own became too much to deal with and he was gone by Wednesday morning.

To add to the general gloom that week, Emily received word that her move to London had been postponed until after Thanksgiving. This meant that the girl was irritable beyond belief. Miranda considered, more than once, that working from home for a bit might be a welcome relief from the red-head's incessant whine.

The next Monday, Miranda considered calling Andrea, as perhaps NOT calling the young woman had been a jinx the previous week. Then, she realized how silly such musings were. She moved on. There really was too much to do at the magazine to be spending any more valuable time dwelling on ex-employees.

On Halloween, she called Nigel into her office early in the morning and told him to go home early. It was his last day in the office as it was (he was going to take over the floundering _Men's Runway_ as the Editor-In-Chief, hopefully turning it around).

His ecstasy was palpable (as was a certain amount of anxiety he had over his promotion). She knew that he and his current beau were planning an extravagant Halloween party slash promotion party. His jubilation carried her right through the harried experience of pre-teen daughters squealing around the townhouse as they prepared to trick-or-treat with their friends. In fact, her good mood even made dealing with the occasional interruption of trick-or-treaters manageable. She eventually put the Book aside, knowing that she could deal with it later. The December issue was, after all, ahead of schedule anyway.

At Thanksgiving, Miranda took her daughters up to New Hampshire to spend the holiday weekend with their father. He had remarried a few years back, and the girls spent this particular holiday with him and his new wife.

During the quiet ride back to New York, Miranda noticed that one of the girls had left their iPod in a small pocket in the door of the car. She promptly rang up Caroline (she could keep the conversation brief, whereas Cassidy might be prompted to chatter) and let her know about the iPod. Her daughter indicated that both girls had their iPod Touches with them. Miranda laid the player on the seat next to her, figuring she would determine later whom it belonged to. She settled back into the soft leather seat and planned to enjoy the site of the turning of the leaves as the sun set. Eventually, however, her curiosity got the better of her and she turned on the music player, finding only a single playlist on it titled, "Jennifer." She wondered when her daughters' nanny had opportunity to be in the car and leave the item. She decided since she WAS holding the player, AND it was rather quiet in the car…she tapped the highlighted 'shuffle' and, after wiping off one of the earpieces, slipped it cautiously in her ear.

The music was a little too quiet, so she turned the volume up a little bit.

A duet was playing – Tony Bennett and a female Miranda couldn't quite place. She glanced at the screen – Bonnie Riatt. They were singing 'I Gotta Right To Sing The Blues." Definitely not a song she wanted to listen to while sitting in solitude in a car, being whisked back to an empty home back in New York. She skipped to the next track.

Sade sang "Please Send Me Someone To Love," causing Miranda to roll her eyes, involuntarily. She could not believe the melancholy theme to these songs. She had pictured the twenty-something nanny to have songs with more of a rap or hard rock theme to them. She skipped to the next song.

While this next track was very bluesy like the Tony Bennett duet, the woman's voice was entrancing. Miranda listened for a good minute, allowing the rich tones to wash over her. A glance at the screen told her the song title, "La Javanise." The artist's rendering of this soul-wrenching French song was mesmerizing. She mentally noted the singer – Madeleine Peyroux – to share with Alexandra. "Alex" Coathure was one of Miranda's favorite staff writers. Maybe they could secure an interview with the artist for an upcoming issue, especially since the picture on the cover photo for the album looked fairly photogenic – at least on a small iPod screen.

Miranda let the song play through and waited for the next one to come on, hoping that perhaps it would also provide possible material for _Runway_.

Alas, Betty Buckley. The woman was definitely not new or fresh enough for _Runway_. While a talented singer, her time in the sun seemed to have passed, along with her award-winning performance in 'Cats.'

She listened to a few bars as Betty capably sang a rendition of "Now You Know," before turning the player off, wrapping the earpiece cord around it, and dropping it back into the door pocket.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the roads in a grayish purple glow. Thankfully, Ted slid the car up in front of the townhouse only a few minutes later.

The next evening, Thanksgiving, Miranda went to a small dinner party with what she called the 'Society Board' – that is, fellow Board members for various artistic venues -- the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Opera, and the Ballet. The event was, as every year, boring beyond tears.

Someone with a sick sense of humor had placed her and Anna Wintour (Editor-in-Chief of _Vogue_ and Miranda's nemesis) next to each other for the dinner. Thankfully, Anna had quickly switched seats with her dinner date, providing a small buffer between the two women.

Suffice to say, Miranda left the soiree as soon as she could without appearing rude. She could not sleep that night, but her insomnia was unrelated to the 'Society Board' dinner, the quality or quantity of food consumed, or the fact that she was alone in the townhouse for the duration of the long holiday weekend.

No, Miranda couldn't sleep because she realized that she really had no special interest in anyone lately, and no interest in pursuing anyone. None of the men on the Board at the Met were straight AND single, nor were any of the designers she had interacted with. She hadn't encountered any men, really, that gave her even a spark of interest.

And, when it came to her friendships, Miranda had let several of those slip away over the past year. This was understandable to her, as the separation and divorce from Stephen had left her with the dilemma of determining which friends she would keep and which friends she allowed to go along with Stephen. It was trying on her to communicate with the acquaintances she had kept--she really was social only when required by business necessity. Trying to coordinate schedules to get together with many of her friends was difficult at best, and Miranda was addled by less than adequate assistants at the present time.

Thinking about her assistants led into thoughts of Andrea. This fed into a deeper pondering over why this particular young woman was more prominent in her thoughts than any other employee, before or since. Andrea had definitely scored low on her sense of fashion when she started out. However, Miranda considered, the young woman was insightful and organized in ways that had made life infinitely easier. Not to mention she had a professional, yet friendly personality that endeared her to everyone she came into contact with on Miranda's behalf. She was physically heavier than almost any other female working at _Runway_, and her size 6 (or was it 4?) figure was actually quite lovely -- wonderfully curvaceous hips and a delightful bust that Miranda realized, upon further contemplation, was sorely lacking in many of Runway's models.

Miranda had thought there was a certain, unspoken bond that she had developed with Andrea, and decided that the reason why she thought about her so much was because she had really hoped for a true friendship. Well, friendship seemed the best word to describe it. What else could it be?

With a sigh, Miranda looked at her bedside clock and realized if she didn't get to sleep soon, she would have difficulty getting up in the morning for her post-Thanksgiving spa day. She rolled onto her back and attempted to will herself to sleep.

A week later, Miranda had a business dinner with Donna Nero and James D. Gordon. James hated it when the "D" was dropped from his name, and Miranda found that fact to be a flashing neon sign as to the kind of personality he was. Donna was well established as the editor-in-chief of _Wine Connoisseur_, and tended to keep a low profile in the media, despite her proclivity for dating high profile individuals –both male and female.

The restaurant was busy, but not overly so. Miranda looked around at the other patrons briefly and then at her dinner guests. James was in his early 60s, with blonde haired, streaked through with grey. His camel-colored suit was very out of season. Donna, on the other hand, was in her late 30s, and while she didn't have any serious signs of aging, there were traces of crow's feet at the corners of the younger woman's eyes. Miranda pursed her lips at the realization that Donna could easily be perceived as James' daughter. And, if one didn't know that Miranda's white hair was severely premature, she supposed some might perceive her to be of an age to be Donna's parent as well. How annoying. She attempted to refocus on the purpose of the dinner.

Miranda and James, as Directors on the Board at the Met, were attempting to get Donna to help them plan a Museum fundraising wine tasting and dinner in January. Miranda felt James was a bit of a bore. He was a CEO with Merrill Lynch, so his people skills were not his strong suit. Throughout dinner, he kept trying to impress Donna with his wine knowledge. It was rather irritating, and Miranda found her mind drifting off from the conversation at times. She mused over the fact that Donna reminded her of someone, but couldn't put her finger on it. She was attractive – freckles across her nose and forehead, short, tight chestnut curls, expressive brown eyes, a bust that was a little too small for her body frame, but forearms that indicated the woman was quite trim, with well-defined musculature. Obviously, the wine magazine editor ensured that she stayed active, which Miranda admired.

About the time dessert came, Miranda realized why Donna looked familiar – her hair was approximately the same chestnut color as Andrea's, and the eyes equally similar in color. The Runway editor kicked herself for this preoccupation of thought with her former assistant and attempted to pay attention to James' rambling. This proved to be more difficult than she had hoped.

As the waiter brought over chocolate mouse, Donna caught Miranda staring at her, lost in thought, and winked conspiratorially. James was notorious for being pompous and had been clearly boring BOTH women. Worse than that, he seemed not to have the slightest clue. As the three were leaving the restaurant shortly thereafter, Donna tore away from James and his monologue on red wines of the Italian Riviera.

"Miranda. Thank you for dinner. I would be pleased to assist with the soiree. Thank you as well, J.D. " Donna stated, with a small bow. She then head off down the street. Miranda slid into the back seat of her town car, impressed that the woman had been able to break away from James so easily.

As it was, Miranda had to slide over on the leather seat and allow him to climb in. The few blocks from the restaurant to his office were an enervating experience. He chatted her (and Ted's) ear off. Thankfully, he was not interested in women his own age, which meant Miranda didn't have to worry about fending him off. She was glad to be rid of him a few minutes later, and sunk back in the seat, more than happy to go home. Her mind drifted off to whether the girls would be ready for bed when she arrived, and if she should switch to the warmer duvet as winter was creeping in.

As if on queue, the wind whipped through the buildings downtown, slapping dried leaves against the car windows. Miranda noticed a lone figure moving along the street just beyond the upcoming intersection. The way the person was walking was oddly familiar, and Miranda was about to chastise herself for obsessing about Andrea Sachs again when the figure's head turned a bit, to throw hair out of their face.

It WAS Andrea. Miranda, without thinking, pointed the young woman out to Ted.

"Pick Andrea up and drop her at her place before we head home."

"Yes, ma'am."

As Andrea clamored into the car, fastening her seat belt around her, Miranda began to wonder what she was doing, offering a ride. She turned away from Andrea, suddenly unsure what to do or say. Thank goodness Andrea didn't attempt to make conversation…at first.

Why did she have to bring up the phone calls? Miranda had no clue why she had called Andrea so much. And now the girl was bringing it up. In an attempt to avoid answering, Miranda turned the tables and asked Andrea why she hadn't ever initiated a call. She was surprised, therefore, to hear Andrea indicate she had, indeed, called Miranda.

But she had called the office line instead of Miranda's cell. Not the same thing. It was obvious that the girl was too afraid of Miranda. Even after Miranda had reached out repeatedly with all the previous phone calls, she was still too icy, too scary for Andrea to feel comfortable enough to call her back directly.

Miranda felt suddenly vulnerable at this realization. She lashed out at Andrea, calling her a coward. She was suddenly consumed with frustration. How could Andrea be so smart and yet so dense?

It must have been all the wine at dinner. As soon as she had allowed the unkind words out, she felt terribly exhausted. Resting her head back against the soft leather headrest, she felt the clasp on her pearl necklace dig into the vertebrae at the back of her neck. Placing an elbow up on the windowsill of the car, Miranda let her forearm fall down, fingers coming to rest on the necklace itself. She gave it a gentle tug, attempting to adjust its position. It didn't help. She remembered that Andrea was still in the car and let her know that Ted would take her wherever it was that she lived.

The duration of the trip, Miranda spent fighting back the weight of the air around her, feeling as suffocated as she had in Paris last spring when Andrea had left her. She grappled with why it was that Andrea continued to play such a prominent role in her thoughts and how she could be so easily angered by the young woman, and for what?

When the car pulled to a stop, Miranda realized this was it.

Andrea was leaving her.

Again.

She lifted her head, but couldn't bear to look directly at Andrea. So, she watched the scene unfold in the muted reflection of the car window.

And then, she cried.

It wasn't crying by any real standards. It was, after all, just a single tear. But how many tears did it take to truly be called crying? To top off her pain and embarrassment, Andrea actually reached out and touched her before climbing out of the car, sending a shiver of delight up the older woman's arm. The brunette also wished Miranda a good night. It was almost too much to bear.

Miranda could still feel the warmth of Andrea's hand on hers as Ted whisked onwards to the townhouse.

Insomnia took hold again that night, as Miranda tossed and turned in the large, empty King-sized bed, plagued with rambling thoughts on why it was she had cried. To make matters worse, somewhere around 3am, both girls snuck in to her room and curled up on either side of their mother, preventing her from being able to move an inch without disturbing the somnolent twins.

Friday was absolutely atrocious beyond recognition. Irv caught her on the way in and gave her grief over the high costs of the upcoming spring trips to London, Milan, and Paris for the usual autumn Fashion Week presentations. It seemed that the economy was starting to show signs of stagnation, and Irv was worried about the future sales of _Runway_. She had hoped that the record sales of September's issue would have bought her more time before Irv began whittling away at her budget again. So much for that idea.

This was followed by having to hear people clatter in and out of the outer office for most of the morning, making all manner of noise. It was Emily's last day (thank goodness) and it seemed that every heavy-footed, deaf, and loud human being in the City had to pop by to wish the girl well. Honestly, the young woman was devoted, but daft, and her British accent only served to remind Miranda of all that she had left behind to be at the pinnacle of the fashion world – and yet so alone.

The day was topped off royally when she received a call from the twins. At work. On her work phone.

"Yes, Bobsey. Mumsy will take you skating tomorrow night. I am sure you will impress Kristi Yamaguchi when she comes to school Monday. Yes, I'll show you how to skate backwards. Yes, I remember how to skate backwards. Mumsy has to go now. I love you, too, Bobsey."

Miranda hated that, on the phone, she could not tell her daughters apart, and she was subjected to calling them something generic. In this case, she was fairly certain that it was Caroline calling due to the level of performance anxiety presented in the conversation.

Upon hanging up, Miranda sent one of her assistants to pick up new ice skates for the girls, as they had outgrown the ones she had gotten for them two years ago. Once the assistant was gone, Miranda remembered she needed her own skates pulled out of storage. And, of course, it took three attempts to reach the assistant and direct the girl to follow up on that as well.

Yes, it was a horrible Friday. Miranda got home that evening and didn't pay much attention to the movie her Bobseys put on that night—_Toy Story 2_. While the girls watched the film, Miranda sipped a glass of Merlot and allowed the soundtrack to wash over her. She absent-mindedly tucked them in bed, let Patricia out back for one last piddle, then ensured the large canine settled in to a dog bed on the floor in Caroline's room.

She slept soundly that night, dreaming that she was the little forlorn cowgirl toy remembering being loved. The next morning, she prepared a wonderful breakfast spread for her daughters, absentmindedly humming Sarah McLachlan's song from the film, "When She Loved Me."

__________________________________________________________________________________

Please let me know what you think. How did the chapter flow? Were the peeps in character? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you…


	6. Chapter 6

**(6) Holiday Season: The World Shifts **

Saturday evening, the girls were full of nervous energy, excited to be going ice-skating with her. They were both aware that their mother had won several trophies for figure skating when she was their age – grandfather had regaled them with tales of their mother's childhood whenever he came to visit.

Miranda hadn't donned skates in several years, but once she stepped onto the ice, it all came back to her. Her girls were lovely – their porcelain faces framed by strawberry blonde locks, cheeks rosy in the winter breeze. She felt so relaxed that evening, and had, upon their request, even left her sunglasses at home – and hoped desperately that she would not be recognized or bothered during their 'quality time'.

Early on, when they first got on the ice, she thought she had glimpsed Andrea. However, an absolute novice skater had tripped her at that moment, and she forgot about the young woman for several moments afterwards. When she did remember to look around, there was no trace of her former assistant, and Miranda mentally wrote it off as a figment of her overactive imagination.

Upon the return home, the girls sat on bar stools at the kitchen counter while she made them hot chocolate.

"You are making the kind with actual milk, I hope."

Miranda raised an eyebrow at Caroline.

"The kind with water never tastes as good, Mom," Cassidy followed up, as way of explanation. Caroline tended towards blunt language and Cassidy frequently softened her sister's statements, keeping the peace between her sharp-tongued sister and mother.

As a pan of milk slowly warmed on the gas stove, Miranda pulled out a block of chocolate from the pantry and began to carefully run it over a grater. She carefully poured a small amount of the warming milk into the bowl of shaved bits, and stirred the mixture until the chocolate was thoroughly melted. With a careful hand, she poured the chocolate sauce into the pan of warming milk, occasionally stirring the concoction as it continued to heat.

"Mom? Can I ask you something?"

Miranda smirked at this, pulling her robe tighter around her hips, tying the belt into a sturdier knot.

"You just did, Caroline." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the irritated expression on her daughter's face.

"Go ahead. What is it?" Miranda amended, and gave a warm smile.

"Amelia Owens has two dads now – officially."

Miranda almost dropped the rubber spatula into the swirling brown liquid, "What?"

"She has two dads." Caroline repeated. The look of confusion remained on her mother's face, and the woman's eyes clouded grey. "I thought that fact that Amelia's father was gay was old news."

"Her dad just got for _**real**_ married to Peter in," Caroline furrowed her brow in thought, "in one of those states where they can do that."

Miranda said nothing. She carefully kept her gaze on the hot chocolate.

After a long moment, "So, what is your question?" She kept her voice neutral.

This time, Cassidy continued the conversation, a sign to Miranda that they were headed into murkier, emotionally charged territory.

"Well, Amelia says her dad is really happy now that he's like really, you know, _married_ to Peter. Peter designs toys, and Amelia says his company gives him, Amelia, and her dad extras that married people get—you know, because they have a license and rings and everything. She says it feels like they are a real, normal family now that it's official." Cassidy went on, as Caroline nodded.

"And what do you think about Amelia's dad being able to marry this Peter?" Miranda gave the mixture one last swirl with the spatula, and then pulled out three mugs. She was feeling a little proud of herself for handling the conversation so well, but fought against a sinking feeling that there was more to it than just this.

The girls seemed to seriously consider her question for a few moments.

Caroline spoke first, "I dunno. Mister Randolph, our Math teacher, doesn't seem to like it that a man can marry a man, but the other teachers seem to think its okay."

"What about your friends – what do they think?" Miranda knew that the opinions of her daughters' peers would carry greater weight than that of adults.

"Oh, most of us knew about Amelia's dad thing before, anyway. It doesn't change Amelia any. Its just that she says she's a lot happier, because her dad is so happy being married to Peter." Caroline continued.

Miranda looked over at Cassidy, and was surprised to see her daughter studying her, intently.

"What are you thinking, Cassidy?"

"Well, Caroline and I have been talking and…" she drifted off, looking to her twin for support.

Caroline shook her head, "I'm not saying it."

Cassidy rolled her eyes and looked back at her mother. Miranda slid a mug of hot chocolate towards each of the girls. Cassidy carefully blew on hers and her mother waited patiently for the girl to gather the courage to continue. The girls sipped simultaneously from their mugs, setting them down with a stereophonic sigh.

Finally, Miranda could bear it no longer, "Bobsey, its okay. Go ahead and tell me. You and Caroline have been talking and…." She waved a hand in a beckoning motion, thoroughly impatient to finish this conversation.

Cassidy reached for her mother's hand, mid-wave. Miranda tentatively allowed the action, feeling her heart skip a beat at the care being shown in this physical contact. Cassidy squeezed her mother's fingers tightly, as if holding on for dear life.

"So, what-I'm-going-to-say-is-because-we-love-you-and-just-want-you-to-be-happy." The words spilled out of Cassidy in a torrent. Miranda stood there for a moment, deciphering what her daughter had just said. With her left hand, she slid a stray tuft of hair behind her ear and leant over the counter to kiss Cassidy's forehead.

"I love you, too, Bobsey. And you, too, Bobsey." She turned and gave the other twin an air kiss to the head. Cassidy had her mother's right hand in too tight a grip for Miranda to be able to give Caroline a proper kiss.

"Before you continue, though, I want you to slow down."

Cassidy let go of her mother's hand and tucked her own, small hands underneath her on the barstool. She stared down at her mug.

"Okay. So, um, Caroline and I have been talking. And we know that Amelia's dad was married to her mom, but they weren't happy. But now he IS happy with Peter. And Amelia is still Amelia, even though she lives with two dads at home." Cassidy's grey-green eyes stared back at her mother, expectantly.

"True." Miranda was still at a loss as to where this conversation was going that had her daughters so nervous.

Cassidy continued, "And, well, you were married to dad and then Stephen, but you weren't happy with them. And we know that, well, Andy, I mean Andrea, liked you. That is, she liked liked you. So, um, well," Cassidy took a slow, deep breath. Miranda could feel her stomach knotting up and her heartbeat quickening.

"Well, you kind of liked her, too. Maybe even liked liked her. I mean, we have heard you talking about her in your sleep." Cassidy seemed to realize, too late, that this last bit of information might not have been good to share aloud. She continued on at a faster clip.

"So, Caroline and I, well, we just want you to know that we are okay if you want to marry Andy, I mean Andrea." Miranda felt her hands becoming cold and sweaty. She stuffed them in the pockets of her robe, noticing the damp spots left behind on the counter top.

Cassidy barreled on, "Or, if you wanted to marry another woman, not necessarily Andrea, we are okay with that, too."

The kitchen was silent for several long minutes. Miranda felt a little light-headed and warm. Her vision blurred somewhat and she carefully moved a couple of feet down the kitchen island and turned on the cold water. Slipping her hands into the stream, she felt a little better. She placed a chilled hand on the back of her neck and felt instant relief. Putting both hands back under the water flow, she bought herself a little more time to recover and think of a proper response.

"See, I knew we shouldn't have told her like this." Caroline complained to her sister.

"If we didn't say something, she might never think about marrying a woman at all. And she works with a lot of women, so even if it wasn't Andy, maybe she could find someone else she really loves. And then she could be happy, too."

As Miranda listened to her daughters' logic, she almost laughed. Almost.

"Girls. Girls." She looked up at both of them. Their cheeks were pink with embarrassment, and she quickly turned off the water, wiped off her hands on a dishtowel and moved around the island to stand between them. Wrapping a robe-clad arm around each of them, she gave the girls' shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"I love you both very much and appreciate that you want me to be happy. I will be sure to let you know if I think about marrying anyone. And," she paused to take a steadying breath, "I will keep in mind your thoughts about women."

At this, Miranda chuckled. She really couldn't help it. The words sound so ridiculous. And yet, her girls had a point. All she could do was chuckle. She released the girls and reached to grab her own mug from across the counter.

"Let's finish our drinks and get some sleep, okay?"

Unsurprisingly, she had another sleepless night. Miranda couldn't help but ponder over her own obsessive thoughts for Andrea. Did she 'like like' the younger woman, as her daughters thought possible? She certainly found her attractive. The question was, did she find her sexually desirable? And then it hit her.

Andrea had understood Miranda in a way no one else had. And, when she contemplated it, Andrea was physically attractive. The young woman had a special spot in her heart that no one before or since had obtained.

Perhaps, she would even say that she loved Andrea – though certainly not in the way that she loved many of her friends, or even her daughters. No, this feeling—this love—was altogether different. And, when she allowed herself to consider it, Andrea was physically appealing in a way that no other man or woman she had previously encountered had been. Miranda hadn't ever considered this possibility before, but now it was so clear. How could she have not realized sooner?

Of course, now the problem was – what did she do now, knowing how she felt? Miranda was a woman of decision, a woman of action. She would simply make contact with the young reporter and take it from there. After all, if Andrea had absolutely no interest in her, than she would have to accept it and find a way to move on. At least, now, she better understood her own thoughts and actions regarding Andrea, as she looked back.

She rose when she heard the Sunday newspaper hit the front stoop and, wrapping her robe around her, padded down the stairs to the front door in her bare feet. It was only when she closed the door after retrieving the fat Sunday edition that she saw the envelope.

The slip of paper inside had just a couple of short sentences: _'I didn't leave Runway because of the workload, or because what the work required of me. I left because I was afraid of falling in love with an indifferent woman. I am not afraid of falling in love with a woman full of life – a woman who falls on the ice, smiles, and brushes it off, because she is focused on enjoying the time with her family.'_

It seemed that Andrea made all of this much easier for her – somehow, she had always been a step ahead of Miranda when in her employ, and this had not, apparently, changed. Still, it was disconcerting how this had worked out. She read the note repeatedly, wondering how it was that at the same time she had come to the realization of the depth of her feelings for Andrea, the younger woman had chosen to share that she felt similarly.

During her musings, she realized that even if they were attracted to each other, they would have to discuss the possible repercussions of pursuing things further.

A relationship with Andrea Sachs would be much more complicated than any previous romantic partnership she had undertaken. She saw two main hurdles: age and gender. Miranda knew that her daughters would, at least in theory, be accepting. But, she worried how it would be for both her and her girls once the paparazzi got wind of things. Because, of course, the press would find out. They always did. This kind of development could be painful – for her, for Andrea, for _Runway_, and most importantly, for her daughters.

Really, she was getting ahead of things a bit, and decided that she would verify with Andrea the sincerity of her admission. Because all of this worry would be for naught if the girl really, when it came down to brass tacks, liked the _idea _of being in a relationship with Miranda. She WAS young, and may not have a clear, realistic understanding of what love cost.

With a sigh, Miranda determined she would begin plotting a way to get to the truth of Andrea's intentions.

The day was exceedingly long, as Miranda had not slept the previous night. She helped her daughters with their essays on the Renaissance that afternoon. It was a topic she rather enjoyed. This helped her fight off the drowsiness that was quickly descending upon her following the sleepless night.

After dinner, she could barely stay awake while the girls bantered with each other over their Christmas Wish Lists. It seemed that Philip's wife celebrated Christmas. Thus, the girls had determined it would be in their best interest to take advantage of celebrating this holiday as well.

Curiously enough, their Christmas chatter was the likely cause of her dreams Sunday night. She had imagined that she was Santa and Andrea was Mrs. Claus. Andrea had told her that she was VERY good that year, and should be rewarded appropriately.

Unfortunately, the alarm clock roused Miranda from her sleep at just that point. She felt a tingling ache in parts of her anatomy and to a degree that she was certain she had not experienced before. Admittedly, the tingling felt delightful, and she really wished she didn't have to rise and go to work. Especially with Nigel gone, and two less than adequate Emilys.

The whole day, her Santa dream haunted her. It didn't help to walk into the Closet to work out an idea, only to catch Cora shamelessly making out with a young man dressed as an elf.

Really, did Cora think she was working at a whorehouse or a fashion magazine? The raven-haired male blushed when he realized that Miranda had seen their actions. With speed and admirable silence, he slipped from the room. Cora, unabashed, ran her fingers through her short, red curls and turned wordlessly to face Miranda.

Miranda would never admit it, but she rather preferred it when Cora wore her hair short like this.

"Cora, I never would have taken you for a cougar. Wonders never cease."

The other woman sniffed, "He may be an elf, but he has a big candy cane."

Miranda's pale cheeks reddened considerably and she changed the subject quickly, "I was wondering if you've seen the new line of trousers from Ralph Lauren? They were in here yesterday, but seem to have gone missing." She waved her hand in a gesture of frustration.

Cora took her cue and quickly became more professional, "Those are upstairs. I think the rack they are on is just outside Lisa's office. The new Emily, er, Katie?, was going to move that rack into your office for our meeting after lunch."

"Oh." Miranda looked momentarily lost. Cora easily grasped that the Editor-in-Chief was making an excuse for being in the Closet.

"Well…"

"I'll see you at 1:30 then," Miranda stated, bluntly. "That's all."

Cora gratefully sidestepped her boss and left the other woman to find whatever it was that she was looking for in private.

Miranda found some pieces she needed, and then made a call to Nigel at _Men's Runway_ to set up a lunch meeting the following day. She could tell he was initially surprised that she had made the call directly, rather than using one of her new Emilys. But she also knew that he would capture that this was a personal matter requiring some discretion.

When she got home from work, Caroline was dancing around the house, enthusiastically. It turned out that she had, indeed, gotten some compliments from Kristi Yamaguchi during the ice skating champion's visit to Dalton that afternoon. Cassidy indicated, upon questioning, that she had done 'okay,' but that she didn't enjoy ice skating so much and that her twin was definitely more adept. They had a delightful dinner with Caroline sharing stories about ice skating with Kristi and Cassidy getting animated as she discussed the charity work that the professional ice skater was doing.

Tuesday afternoon, Miranda slipped out of her office and walked down the street to a small café that was about the same size as her office. Over the years, Peter, the owner, had seen several high profile staff from Elias-Clarke come to his establishment for their more private meetings.

Peter seated Miranda in one of the two corner booths with a simple, "The usual eggs and a salad?"

Miranda nodded, "Yes. And a sparkling water."

"But, of course." He slid away quietly. Moments later, he led Nigel back to her table and took his order.

"You look well, Nigel. Have you lost weight?" Miranda removed her sunglasses.

The balding man chuckled, "Perhaps a pound or two."

"Ah, who is he?"

Nigel blushed, "He's not in fashion – he's an accountant, if you would believe it. But," Nigel paused and smiled warmly, "he has a keen sense and appreciation for _Men's Runway_ and its role in society. "

"Well, I couldn't imagine you falling for someone who didn't."

Peter returned to their table with a large plate of scrambled eggs and a smaller one with a garden salad. He placed both in front of Miranda. As he turned away, a mature woman moved around him to place a large Caesar salad in front of Nigel.

"I'll be right back with your beverages." Miranda and Nigel sat in silence until the drinks were placed before them and both Peter and his wife had moved out of earshot.

"Nigel. I need a Santa costume. New. Tasteful, but traditional. Not some smelly, dingy thing worn by a string of beer-guzzling dimwits for a department store."

Her former employee looked shocked, but only momentarily.

"When?"

"Before the weekend."

"Accoutrements as well?" He glanced over at her over a forkful of lettuce.

"Of course."

Nigel considered the request for a moment, while they both ate.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I will have it to your home by…the day after tomorrow? Thursday evening."

"There's one other thing…" Miranda had already tucked away her eggs and was preparing to start in on her salad. Nigel never ceased to be amazed by the way the woman could eat so much and so quickly, especially when in private.

He continued to slowly nibble at his salad, knowing better than to rush her along. The Santa suit wasn't likely enough of a reason to be meeting here, so obviously whatever was concerning her was significant enough that he would have to give her time.

Miranda cleared her throat and took a sip of her water, trying to formulate how she would continue.

"Well, it is a given that so many men in the industry are gay, but I'm wondering are there really that many women…?"

Nigel was glad to have gotten a forkful of food into his mouth when she asked this question, thus providing him with some time to consider it fully while he chewed.

He brought his napkin to dab a corner of his mouth before responding, "There are a few. Some of the models, a few of the photographers – actually, I think…yes, I think all but one of the female photographers are gay. Or lesbian, I guess."

Miranda looked at him, surprise clearly marking her face, "Really?"

Nigel nodded as he scooped up another bite.

"I mean, everyone knows about Annie, but, well. What about on the staff at _Runway_, or _Men's Runway_…or even…other publications?" Nigel was shocked now. Miranda NEVER vocalized that there were other fashion magazines even in existence. This was serious.

"Um, I'm sure there are. I think that everyone just assumes that all women in fashion are straight, and all men gay."

"But do you think it would hurt _Runway_ if it came out that certain high level female staff members were…" Miranda chided herself for being afraid to say the word.

"Why? Is Cora -?" Nigel looked questioningly at Miranda before realizing that he really didn't want to know the answer to his question. "Never mind." Besides, he knew without question that Cora loved men as much as he did. Miranda watched him out of the corner of her eye as she moved some arugula around on her plate. Then, she saw it. He had figured it out. Or at least, had a clue. Maybe.

"Do you think it would hurt _Runway_'s image if my next romantic liaison was with…another woman?" There, she had said it. Oh, God. What had she admitted to? Now it was out there. Really out there.

Nigel chewed the last bite of lettuce and thought about it. He knew that Miranda would want his honest opinion. He also knew that it had to be difficult for her to come to him and say what she had just said. Miranda was not known for discussing her ideas with others -- it just wasn't her style.

"I think it might go both ways. _Runway_ might lose some ground with some readers in the mid-West, purely for religious reasons. However, it might help dispel the rumor that lesbians have no sense of fashion. And…it might make you the Ellen of the fashion world – that is, just by being out about it and unapologetic…by treating it as being unremarkable, well that might actually BE remarkable, and bring in a lot more readers. In fact," he tapped his fork in the air as if it was a conductor's wand, "it might bring in a lot of lesbian readers. And that could be good. They have a lot of expendable income. It could open a lot of new opportunities, if well played."

Miranda stared at him, "Lesbians have no sense of fashion?" Her lips pursed at this thought, and she stared at the wall opposite her, contemplating this.

"Have you considered when you are going to tell Irv?"

Miranda snapped her gaze back to him, "No. You're the first."

Nigel blushed, "I'm honored. May I ask…"

She studied him carefully. While she normally wouldn't deign to discuss her private life with anyone, in this instance, sharing a little with Nigel might be helpful for her. He had experience in these matters, after all.

"I…we haven't discussed the nature of our relationship. I'm just trying to get an idea of what might be involved." She saw Nigel's face grow taut.

"Miranda, I will give you two pieces of advice. First, it might be helpful to talk to Annie. She may be able to tell you about how this might affect perceptions of you and your work. Second, I know you like to strategize, to plan, and get things done - perfectly. However, you need to talk to HER, whoever she is, before you consider talking to ANYONE else. This is one area of life in which unilateral decisions will definitely NOT fly. I mean it, Miranda--for better or worse, you need to consult _her_." He punched the table in front of her with his finger for emphasis.

She sighed, pinched her lips again, and responded, "This is going to kill me, isn't it?" It wasn't really meant as a question.

Nonetheless, as Nigel placed his napkin on the table in preparation to leave, he looked squarely at her, "If she is truly worth it, if you really love her and want her in your life, then 'yes' it may at times kill you."

Miranda smiled tightly and gave him a small nod. He took this to be her 'thank you.' As he stood to leave, he grasped her hand and gave it a small kiss.

"Good luck, ma cherie." Miranda watched him depart, and sat there for a few more minutes in quiet contemplation before she dropped a couple of large bills on the table, thanked Peter for the lunch, and returned to the office.

Thursday evening, Ted picked Miranda and the girls up from a youth string orchestra performance they had attended at Carnegie Hall. She was feeling relaxed, as the music continued to resonate in her head during the silent drive.

As they climbed out of the car back home, Ted popped the trunk and followed them up the stairs with a large box.

"What is that?" Caroline asked her mother as they removed their coats in the entryway.

Miranda, momentarily, was unsure. Then, she realized. It was Thursday. Nigel. The Santa suit.

"Um, its something Nigel brought by for Mummy. Just put it down by the door, Ted."

Cassidy grinned, "Nigel got you a present! Awesome!"

Miranda chuckled, then thought of something.

"Girls, why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed. Then see me in the living room for a quick chat."

She paced the floor of the infrequently used formal living room in her stocking feet, waiting for the twins. The minutes dragged on, and she tried, without much luck, to remain calm. Finally, she caved in and mixed herself a drink. By the time the girls pattered down the stairs and into the room, Miranda was starting to feel the alcohol soothe her frayed nerves. Or, at least, that's what she made herself believe.

"Have a seat."

The girls sat there, just a few narrow inches between them, looking at her expectantly.

"Do you remember the night we went ice skating?"

"Mom, it was just last weekend." Caroline rolled her eyes in disbelief.

Miranda paused in her thought. So it was. For some reason, it had seemed ages ago in her mind.

"You're right, Bobsey. Do you remember the conversation we had afterwards?"

Cassidy gulped, "Look, Mom. We're sorry if we upset you. I mean, I'm sorry. I'm the one who said it."

Caroline jumped up, and with one hand pulling Cassidy along behind her, flew across the room to where Miranda was standing, and pulled her mother and sister into a fierce hug.

"We love you, Mommy."  
Miranda held her girls to her tightly. After a minute, she loosened her hold and got down on her knees, pulling them back into a warm embrace.

"I love you, too."

Finally, the girls pulled away, and Cassidy put a hand on her mother's shoulder.

"Its okay, Mom. Whatever it is, its okay."

Caroline looked suddenly scared, "It is okay, isn't it?" Her voice was timid, and void of the usual self-confident air.

Miranda smiled, wryly, "Yes, Bobsey. It's okay. But, why don't we go sit down? Mommy is getting to old to be kneeling on the floor like this."

They sat down on the overstuffed white and blue striped couch, one girl on either side of their mother.

"I want to thank you for what you said."

"Really?" Cassidy's smile lit up the room.

"Yes, really." Miranda smiled back down at her daughter and felt her eyes welling up.

"I thought a lot about it, and, well, maybe Mummy will think about dating a woman. About dating Andrea."

"Yeay!" Cassidy turned and, kneeling on the sofa, facing her mother, gave her another hug. And a big, damp kiss on the cheek.

When Miranda recovered from the shock of the movement, she and Cassidy both looked over at Caroline.

"Are you going to marry her?"

Miranda swallowed, hard.

"Marriage is a big commitment, Bobsey. For right now, Mummy is thinking it might be nice just to date Andrea."

She paused, and then asked with a quiver in her voice, "What do you think? Would that be okay? Some of the kids might not say nice things if they find out." Miranda felt her heart clenching at the thought of her daughters being harassed needlessly.

Now it was Caroline who put a hand on her mother's shoulder, the warmth and weight of it permeating through the thin, print blouse Miranda was wearing. She was struck by the seriousness of Caroline's face.

"Mummy, you should date Andy. Especially if it means kissing her. If you want to get married later, that's okay. But you shouldn't wait too long."

Miranda didn't know whether or not she should laugh at what her daughter said. Thankfully, Cassidy kissed her mother's cheek again, making it easier for her to smile without being obvious about what caused her smile. Once Cassidy pulled away, Miranda looked back to Caroline. She wanted to understand the comments.

"Why is kissing Andrea so important?"

"Because then you will love her. And if you love her, then you will marry her."

"And if you marry her, then you'll be happy." Cassidy completed the thought.

At this, Miranda couldn't hold back her laugh.

"Girls. I want to tell you something. Sometimes grown-ups kiss each other, but they don't really love each other. It's just kissing. And sometimes grown-ups even love each other, but they don't get married."

Cassidy snorted, "Yeah. We know."

Miranda turned her gaze, and unconsciously raised her eyebrow.

"Mom. C'mon. We're not stup-pid." Cassidy, seemingly immune to the harsh, questioning look on Miranda's face, simply rolled her eyes and slid off her mother's lap.

"Yeah, we know that, Mom. Especially Cassidy." Caroline chimed in. "She watches _'Grey's Anatomy'_ all the time. The doctors do a lot of kissing and they don't really love each other, or get married."

Cassidy exclaimed, "Hey."

Miranda chuckled, "Girls. Girls. I think we've talked enough. Let's get you up to bed." She rose and shooed her daughters ahead of her up the stairs. She waited in the hallway with Caroline while Cassidy went into the bathroom first.

"Mom?" Caroline queried as they heard the toilet flush from behind the closed door.

"Yes."

"If other kids get all weird, they can just go to hell." Caroline threw out the statement with conviction just as the faucet shut off and the door opened. Cassidy exited the bathroom and tilted her head at the look of shock on her mother's face. Caroline ducked into the bathroom, and Cassidy took her mother's hand, leading her down the hall to her own bedroom. While Cassidy put on her glitter-berry lip-gloss and crawled into bed, Miranda stood still, unmoving.

"Mom?"

Miranda realized her daughter was talking to her and bent over the bed, pulling the sheet straight and then folding back the comforter a little ways, just as Cassidy preferred.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Bobsey. Goodnight." Miranda's voice chocked on the words, and she gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead before straightening up. As she moved to partially close the door behind her, Cassidy called out.

"Mom?"

"Yes."

"Don't wear too much perfume when you go on dates with Andrea. If your perfume is too strong, you won't be able to smell hers. And," Cassidy paused, "your perfume might not go well with her perfume when you're kissing."

Miranda said nothing, but quietly tip-toe-ran into Caroline's room with her hand over her mouth so that Cassidy wouldn't hear her laughter. For a moment, she really understood the humor behind Art Linkletter's old show, "Kids Say The Darndest Things." Thankfully, Caroline took longer in the bathroom, giving Miranda time to compose herself.

Caroline had a more meticulous bedtime routine – first picking out a stuffed animal to sleep with, then lathering her hands with a glitter-citrus lotion, followed by the application of lip gloss. Miranda watched and waited patiently. Finally, she was able to smooth out Caroline's sheet and comforter, tucking in the edges just as her daughter liked, and finishing with a kiss on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Caroline."

"Goodnight, Mom."

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Please let me know what you think (submit review). How did the chapter flow? Were the peeps (especially the twins) in character/believable? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you…


	7. Chapter 7

**(7) The Holiday Party – Perfumes Collide**

On Saturday morning, Miranda watched as her daughters checked their duffel bags one last time before Ted took them over to Claire's for a sleepover.

Once they were gone, she reviewed the Book, then slipped upstairs to don her costume. She carefully planned when to leave so that she would be crashing Andrea's little office party late enough…but hopefully not too late

When Ted pulled up outside, Miranda felt her palms growing moist with apprehension. This was insane. She was in a _Santa_ suit and thought she could woo Andrea somehow?

With a deep breath, she worked herself out of the back seat, the lumpy pillows under the suit making it difficult to move.

Once inside, she almost tripped over a coat rack angled precariously too close to the doorway. As she caught hold of it to right herself, she saw a familiar name on the claim tag on one of the coats staring back at her - 'Andy Sachs.'

It was a tailored, long, black Donna Karan. Miranda found herself nodding slightly in approval over Andrea's choice. Without thinking, she removed it from its hanger and draped it over her arm. She would find Andrea, hand her the coat, and whisk her back to the house so they could talk – this getup was already bothering her, and the sooner she could get out of there and out of it, the better. Carefully, Miranda worked her way along a back wall, scanning the masses for the attractive and brilliant reporter she was after.

And then she saw her. She looked fabulous. Miranda had stopped ignoring the tingling feeling she got whenever she thought about the young woman – but now that tingling became a powerful ache. Her eyes followed Andrea's slow movement around the same outer wall of the room—right towards Miranda.

She took a deep breath and glanced up while adjusting the droopy hat that was falling forward over her eyes.

There was a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling just a few feet away. A new idea popped into her head, and she stepped forward just as Andrea, not paying attention to where she was going, collided with her.

The conversation started out poorly. Miranda's mind had gone soft as soon as she looked into the large brown eyes, and she forgot what she had planned to say. Clearly, it was all coming out wrong and Andrea was so very much not amused.

Then, she asked, "No regrets?"

Now it was Andrea's turn to be confused and Miranda's thoughts focused. She put a finger to Andrea's lips.

"Shhh. Don't make me repeat my question. Just answer me."

And she could feel the shift. She could feel everything suddenly falling into place. She saw a glimmer ignite in Andrea's eyes, and felt a burning passion rise up from deep within.

When Andrea kissed her, it was the most exquisite experience – both arousing and comfortable at the same time – although arousal was the stronger emotion of the moment. She was able to quickly usher Andrea out to the car, and they both enjoyed uncovering a deep, passionate yearning for one another during the trip back to Miranda's townhouse.

As they pulled up, however, both women paused and looked out the window. Then, they looked at each other.

"I, um," Andrea began.

Miranda grasped the young woman's hips and gently slid her off her lap. She groaned, involuntarily, at the loss of contact.

Looking forward, she stated, "Ted. We need to drop Andrea off at her place." She could see his face drop in the rear view mirror. He turned his head, slightly, to look back at Miranda in questioning disbelief.

"Andy's?"

"You do remember where that is, I assume. Or should I have her draw you a map?"

Ted quickly recovered, "No, no. I remember. Will do." He pulled the car away from the curb.

Andrea settled in next to Miranda, smoothing out her dress. Miranda slid the rest of the way out of the already partially removed Santa suit jacket. The champagne-colored silk blouse underneath was twisted around her torso, and with a swift movement, she straightened it out. As she moved to adjust her necklace, her fingertips tickled along her neck. She was developing fine lines there, and that thought struck her hard.

Things had gone too far, too fast. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that Andrea was going to get out of the car at her apartment and that would be it. Miranda was fine for a make-out session or, if lucky, a fling. However, Andrea was so much younger. Her body was firm, undamaged by time and childbirth.

"Hey, you."

Miranda turned her gaze.

Andrea's deep brown eyes, framed by long, lush eyelashes stared back at her. Miranda could literally feel her heart tearing inside her chest.

"I have to go to Cleveland in the morning – you know, family time. My younger brother is home on winter break from MIT, so I can spend some time with him, mom, and dad. I get back on the 28th. And, well, I was thinking, well, can I call you tomorrow and maybe we plan another date for then?" Andrea paused.

Miranda felt a smile spread across her face. She enjoyed hearing Andrea prattle on.

"So?" Andrea queried.

Miranda raised an eyebrow, tilted her head just slightly in question.

"So, can I call you tomorrow so we can plan something for when I get back from Cleveland?"

The editor ran her fingers through her hair, realizing that Andrea had asked that twice now.

"Miranda?"

She looked back at Andrea, "Of course."

The car pulled to a stop in front of a rather dismal looking brownstone. Miranda felt the burning pain in her chest again. It must have shown on her face as well, because in the next instant, she felt a hand on her cheek, guiding her to look into Andrea's gorgeous eyes.

"I'm glad you came to get me tonight. It was…really nice to finally meet a woman full of so much passion for life." Here, Andrea smiled.

"Thank you for taking a chance," the young woman's voice was so soft, so sweet. A small bit of Miranda was still concerned that Andrea might change her mind. She wanted to make this evening as deliciously memorable as possible, just in case.

Leaning over, she pressed soft kisses along Andrea's mouth, then slowly made her way to Andrea's ear, nuzzling it, gently biting the soft earlobe, almost catching her teeth on the small hoop earring. She felt Andrea shiver under her, and was amazed at the rush of desire that surged through her as she felt Andrea's breasts brush against her own in that movement. And then there was the perfume. She wouldn't have given it much notice, but Cassidy's words came back to her, and she realized how very much she liked inhaling the scent Andrea was wearing. She felt her mouth quirking at this.

Andrea giggled and nuzzled into the crook of Miranda's neck, mumbling against the older woman's skin.

Miranda pulled away a little, "What was that?"

"You are so…good. You growl and I melt. You smile and I feel this kind of warm glow."

Miranda amended her previous thoughts on Andrea's chatter. Sometimes it was unnecessary.

"I don't growl."

She could see the young woman blush in the semi-darkened car, "Yes, you do. And I really, really like it." The low pitch and passion in the younger woman's voice created a wave of warmth just below Miranda's navel.

Andrea traced a finger along the edge of Miranda's chin, and dipped her eyes downward as she spoke again.

"I also think that I could be seriously convinced, after tonight, to believe in Santa Claus."

Miranda laughed aloud at this, and gently pressed her lips to Andrea's again. She hadn't realized until that night how truly wonderful kissing could be.

Maybe her daughters weren't altogether wrong after all. Kissing might, indeed mean loving. Although she now wondered where her daughters got their information from on the subject. She made a mental note to follow up on that when the girls returned home the next day from their sleepover.

"Goodnight, Andrea," she half-whispered.

She was rewarded by a shy smile from the reporter, "Goodnight, Miranda."

That's all --

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Please let me know what you think (submit review). How did this chapter flow? The story overall? Were the peeps in character? Did I suspend reality too much at any point? Thanking you in advance. Hope it was enjoyable…

Now on to other bits, eh?


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